


The Cumulation of Sweeps of Desperate Longing; A Romance

by Newtavore



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Desperation, F/M, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, The Full Sex, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtavore/pseuds/Newtavore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To want even one person so is wrong, much less two of them , and the two of them being so happy together makes it even worse, but you can’t stop the feelings building up inside of you, you can’t stop the hateful, erotic dreams and your body’s almost involuntary responses to your desire and their presence, you just… can’t stop it. You can’t control anything, and you think that’s even more terrifying than these illicit feelings in the first place- the lack of control that comes with them. You can’t stop thinking about them, you can’t stop dreaming about them, they’re in your head from sundown till sun up and you can’t control yourself anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cumulation of Sweeps of Desperate Longing; A Romance

**Author's Note:**

> threesome form three hundred tumblr followers!

Your name is Kankri Vantas, and you are in love with two different people. You are in love with two different people, and you can’t have either of them, because they’re already together, and in love, and perfectly happy without you.

 

It hurts.

 

Your chest aches every time you catch a glimpse of her, or of him, or of them, together, smiling and laughing and being as in love as they can be, without you. You… you are so, so glad that they have each other, that they’re happy, that they’re content and in love but that doesn’t mean you want them any less and your desires make you sick because you are selfish. 

 

You bite and you snap at them because of the pain you feel, and you make yourself sick because you’re cruel and stupid and  _selfish_ , wanting them to look at you like they look at each other, wanting them to touch you, love you, want you. Its selfish and weak minded, to desire the both of them so, lustful and confusing and wrong, so very wrong because you learned early on that you are a mutant and your slurry is not to be spilled, ever. 

 

To want even one person so is wrong, much less two of them , and the two of them being so happy together makes it even worse, but you can’t stop the feelings building up inside of you, you can’t stop the hateful, erotic dreams and your body’s almost involuntary responses to your desire and their presence, you just… can’t stop it. You can’t control anything, and you think that’s even more terrifying than these illicit feelings in the first place- the lack of control that comes with them. You can’t stop thinking about them, you can’t stop dreaming about them, they’re in your head from sundown till sun up and you  _can’t control yourself anymore_.

 

You can’t sleep, you can hardly eat, but these aren’t really new states of being for you, so you adapt. You continue to exist, and you put measures in place to prevent yourself from making a fool out of yourself and a mockery of their relationship. You avoid the places they spend time together, you avoid them individually as much as you can, and when you do have to speak with them, it’s always formal, stilted, distant and emotionless and awkward, but it’s better than you gushing all over them and spilling your heart out. You watch them from afar, sick with envy and lighthearted because they’re happy, they’re laughing and smiling and happy and you love them and want them to be happy but… 

 

Sometimes you’re selfish and disgusting and wish you could be happy too. 

 

This goes on for… for sweeps, forever, as long as you can remember and then some you’re sure, and you settle into a pattern, of sorts. Of watching, pining, dreaming, and watching again, always staying far enough away to not be noticed, always hanging around just out of sight, and you are disgusting and voyeuristic, listening in on their conversations, their laughter, feeding off their happiness, but you can’t help it. You’re sick, you know that, but you can’t help it, and the most you can do is stay out of sight, out of mind, as much as possible, and give them no clues to suspect you with. 

 

…Which is why you’re unsure how you ended up here, pinned to a wall, Mituna’s hands clenched tightly around your forearms, with him staring straight at you like he can see through you into your very soul. You’re terrified, breathing too quickly to be healthy, but you know he’s probably caught you staring and you’re in for what is definitely not going to be a very pleasant time. 

 

“K-kanny,” he murmurs, eyes boring into yours, a crooked, predatory grin spreading across his face, “Kanny, you- you haven’t been vrey good, hvae you~”

 

“I- I’m afraid I have not the slightest clue what you mean, Mituna,” you reply, looking down, because down is better than his eyes, “Please, release me, you’ve caught me in a highly triggering position and I would appreciate it if you would let me go-“

 

“You ben staring,” he interrupts, eyes narrowing, and you shut your mouth, shivering at the intense, unreadable look he’s focused on you, “You been staring at me and Tulip.”

 

“I have been doing nothing of the sort,” you say, puffing yourself up a bit, affecting an indignant tone, “Mituna, you’re being completely, irrationally paranoid-“

 

He snaps his teeth, right next to your ear, and you go still, primal instinct forcing you into a state of panicked, frozen terror.

 

“Stupid. Brain damaged, not blind. Can see you. Watching. All the time.”

 

Suddenly, he pulls you off the wall and whirls you around, pushing you back, and you fall against something soft that supports your weight, arms wrapping around your chest. 

 

“Dude, you’ve totally been watching us for, like, ever.”

 

Both of them. You’ve been cornered by both of them, and now Mituna’s looming over you in front and Latula’s caging you from behind, and there’s no escape. There’s no way out, and your heart is racing in your chest and you can hardly get enough air, panting hard, still frozen. 

 

“L-latula-“

 

You are completely, irrevocably  _fucked_.

 

“Kan-kri,” Mituna sings out, his face mere inches from yours, “Kankriii, why’re you staring at us?”

 

You shake your head, trembling, overwhelmed because you are literally being sandwiched between the both of them and you’re dizzy with it, dizzy with want and need and sick to your stomach because you are not supposed to feel like this, you are not supposed to  _feel_ -

 

“Kankri!” he snaps, and your head flies up, until you’re staring him straight in the face, his nose actually touching yours, “I said, why’re you _staring_?”

 

“I- I-“

 

“You- you- “ he mocks, smirking, and you bite your lip, shaking with restraint and need. 

 

“If I w- If I was watching you it was purely incidental, I assure you. I had no intentions of making either of you unco-“

 

You’re cut off by lips, and then you can’t breathe. 

 

He’s kissing you. Mituna is holding your face in his hands and kissing you, calloused thumbs brushing over your cheeks, surprisingly gentle for all his earlier aggression, and you can help but let out soft little noises into his mouth, especially when he pries yours open and slips his tongues inside, tilting his head for more access. You hands find their way to the cloth of his suit and you clutch it tightly, whimpering as you go lightheaded.

 

When he pulls away, you’re dazed, lips bitten and kiss-swollen, and he smirks at you again, licking his lips. 

 

“I think I gotta idea why you were watching us, Kanny.”

 

He brings your face up, teeth shining.

 

“You liiiiiiike us, dont’cha.”

 

You can’t make a coherent sentence come out of your mouth-  just small, stupid chirps and chirrs, eyes blinking rapidly because you still can’t believe what just happened, happened. You- you can’t. This must be another dream, you have to be dreaming, because there’s no way Mituna Captor would kiss you, especially not like  _that_.  

 

“How was it, babe?”

 

“He’s a good kisser. Warm. Tastes like Red Hots.”

 

They talk over you like nothing just happened, but Latula’s arms are still wrapped around your chest and you’re still trapped between them, panting for air. Someone touches your chin, and your head is turned to the side, another set of lips pressing against your own, cool and soft and there’s a tongue in your mouth and you can’t do anything but cling, eyes fluttering shut because it’s literally everything and nothing like you’d imagined. 

 

She’s kissing you. Latula has a hand under your chin and she’s kissing you, and this can’t be real. They can’t both be kissing you like this, this has to be a dream, or a prank, but your train of thought is derailed when her tongue slides through your parted lips, and she laps at your mouth like it’s the best tasting thing in the world, leaving you breathless and dizzy. 

 

“Wow, you’re right. Even I can kinda taste it. Sweet.”

 

You’re handed over to Mituna, pressed against his chest with your arms pinned, close enough to feel every minute twitch and tremble of his frame, and then Latula kisses you again with a bit more force, running her hands through your hair. It’s intense, more feeling than you’ve ever felt before, and you’re overwhelmed and desperate and suddenly sick to your stomach because this isn’t right, you’re not supposed to want this, you’re not supposed to crave them. 

 

When she separates from you, you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut, because this cannot be real, this can’t. 

 

“Shit… Kanny, babe, are you okay? Did we freak you out?”

 

You shake your head, mouth open, trying to force words out but none will come. You want this so desperately to be real but at the same time you know it isn’t possible, you know you can never truly have them, either of them, both of them, and this has to be your subconscious torturing you or the cruelest joke imaginable. 

 

You don’t think you could continue to exist, if this is a joke. You think you might just fade out of existence altogether. 

 

“Please-“ you manage, voice hoarse, “Please, what- what do you want from me, what-“

 

“You, stupid,” Mituna mumbles, his cheek pressing against the top of your head, “Saw you staring. Always watching us liek some sorta weirdo, always looked so sad. Desc-dccsid- descsfefewrgvkbre- _decided_ we didn’t wnat you to be a sad fcuking loser anymore so we jumped you.”

 

Latula kisses your cheek, soft and gentle, and smiles at you, all curves and wavy lines to Mituna’s sharp angles. 

 

“You’ve been watching us for a real long time, Kankz, we just figured it was, like, totally about time to do something about it already, yanno? We like you. Like,  _like like_  you.”

 

You whimper again, high and god you are so fucking pathetic but you want them so bad, you need them so badly you are willing to sell your very soul for a chance to be with them, and your entire being aches with sheer, agonizing desire. 

 

“So we want you. And we want to be _with_ you,” she continues, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and how, how can she be so perfect?- “We want you to want us too, but it’s okay if we, uh, misread the signals we thought you were sending. We’ll let you go and like, leave you alone-“

 

“No!”

 

She goes silent, just as startled as you are by the volume and vehemence of your cry. 

 

“No, please I- this, I want- this I want you, please-“

 

You sound drunk and desperate, but you can’t say that’s too far off from your state of being at the moment. Stringing together a coherent sentence is much harder than it should be; you feel like you’ve been kicked in the head, like your brain is muddled, nothing makes sense but you know you want this and you want them, because even if this is a prank at least you’ll have had a taste. 

 

She touches you, shushes you softly with a gentle finger pressed against your lips, and you allow yourself to be quieted. Mituna shifts, one arm keeping your hands pinned to your chest, the other wrapping around your waist, keeping your pressed against him, and then she kisses you again, careful and light and chaste and you tremble, wanting so, so much more. 

 

“He’s shaking,” Mituna murmurs, arms tightening around you, protective and supportive rather than threatening, and he rests his head on your shoulder, rubbing his cheek against yours.

 

“Breathe.”

 

You’re not sure which one says it, but you obey, pulling in a ragged breath and allowing Mituna to hold a bit more of your weight. Again, someone says it, and you obey, a steady pattern, calming, mindless, and then someone kisses you again and you just close your eyes and let it happen, taking the touch as offered. 

 

Parting, again, pulls a small noise of discontent from you, but you settle quickly, panting to catch your breath. 

 

“Well he’s definitely quieter.”

 

You make another unhappy noise, and Mituna sniggers, his chest shaking with the force of his laughter. Latula presses against you from the front, chiding him quietly, and you’re being touched on all sides by one or the other, surrounded, and it’s almost too much to take in. 

 

“Jsut teasing,” he says, kissing you on the cheek, biting at your ear with a playful growl, “Shh, just teasing, no mroe sad noises.”

 

He holds you close, lips pressing against your cheek, your jaw, your neck, his jagged teeth brushing against your skin, and then his hips press against your backside and you can feel the squirming length of his bulge, hot even through the barriers of both your clothing, and you can’t help the little gasp that spills from your mouth. 

 

Then Latula pushes fully against you as well, and her suit’s just as thin as his. It takes literally every modicum of self control not to moan outright, and that course of action is swiftly thrown out the window as soon as they start kissing over your shoulder. You bite your lip to try and muffle your rather embarrassing noises, but it does little good, and your hands are still trapped against your chest, held there by one of Mituna’s arms. 

 

“Think he likes it,” he teases, and Latula turns your head to him, and he kisses you next, the bitter smoke-honey-electric flavor of his mouth dampened down by the cool, sweet mint of hers, still lingering. You moan into the kiss, you’re ashamed to admit- you can’t help it, you’re hazy, floating, intoxicated by taste and touch and kiss, drunk on them, and they know it, if the way Mituna laughs into your mouth is any indication, or the way Latula settles her hands on your hips, grinning a sharp toothed grin.

 

“Red Hots,” he says, smacking his lips, “Taste like fucking Red Hots, that’s deli-delcious. Delicious.”

 

You should be outraged, arguing, defensive, but you are so out of it you can hardly bring yourself to care. You feel… well, you  _feel_ , and that’s enough to knock you for a loop. You’ve been so focused on not feeling for so long that giving in, giving up, is like being tossed into the ocean into the middle of a storm, without knowing how to swim. You’re helpless, swamped by the ebb and flow of pleasure and emotion, and with the way they’re touching you, grinding against you, any and all hope of regaining your mental capacity has been lost. 

 

“You look so good like this, Kankz,” Latula croons, sliding her hands up under the fabric of your sweater, fingertips running over your sides, and you let out another moan, head falling back on Mituna’s shoulder. He swiftly takes the opportunity to attack your neck, peppering the skin with licks and bites, and you gasp as, despite your best efforts, your own bulge slips from your sheathe, twisting against the smooth material of your leggings.

 

This is disgusting, this is wrong, but oh god, how can something so wonderful be so terrible? How can this be wrong when it’s literally the best thing you’ve ever felt? You want them so badly, and when Latula presses fully against you, you can’t help but rock your hips, panting and whimpering high and desperate. 

 

Your stamina is horrible, with how many times you’ve touched or been touched- precisely zero, to be exact- and you’re already completely lost to sensation, grinding against the thigh Mituna presses between your legs mindlessly, back arching as much as possible in his tight grip. Latula lets out a moan, soft and feminine, and presses up against you, kissing your forehead gently as she starts to slide the hem of your pants down, once by inch. 

 

‘ _Protest_!’ your brain cries, ‘ _Fight! Run!_ ’ but you can’t make yourself do anything but accept, submit, give yourself over to the pleasure rocking your body even as your sweater disappears and hands skim over your bare chest, lingering over pale scars and remembered imperfections, small, crimson red freckles and patches of lighter skin like dappled sunlight against concrete.

 

“Pretty,” Mituna murmurs, carefully kissing your neck, teeth kept away from the thin skin, and “Beautiful,” Latula agrees, her fingertips tracing little spirals all over the untouched flesh. You moan outright, voice loud in the silence, and they encourage it, rewarding you with more soft touches and praises, Mituna nibbling on one ear, Latula pressing one cool hand against the bulge in your pants. 

 

“How far do you wanna go, Kankri?” she says, voice quiet, calm, how is she so calm, you can barely think straight, this can’t be fair, “We’re only gonna go as far as you want, okay? No pushing or anything, that's not rad. Right, Tunababe?”

 

He nods, and you shudder, biting your lip hard. 

 

“A-all of it,” you gasp, grinding against her hand, wanting more, wanting all, “E-everything you can give, everything you’re willing to give me, I’ll take it all, _please_ -“

 

She kisses you quiet, keeps her touch light, and Mituna is nearly cradling you now, instead of restraining, his arms wrapped around your chest, palms pressed flat over your racing heart. You can hardly breathe, with how bad you need them, and you choke out another desperate whimper, pressing your face into the crook of Mituna’s face. 

 

“Please, please,” you mumble, arching your hips forward, panting, “Please, Latula, Mituna, _please_ -“

 

You rut against her like an animal in heat and it’s _shameful_ , but you can’t stop. You need this so badly, you need them so badly, that it’s burning you up inside like a fever, and the only medicine you can take is them. The only cure is them, and you feel like you’re going to die, without them. 

 

Your need and dependence isn’t healthy, nor is it right, or virtuous in any way, but you can’t even begin to think of all the ways that this is wrong and horrible and filthy; you’re too busy gasping and moaning and making high, embarrassing noises as Latula dips one cool hand into your pants and tangles her fingers with your bulge. 

 

You’ve never felt anything like it before, never; you’ve never let another touch you in such a manner, not even your own hands, and it feels- oh god, it feels amazing, it feels like you’re going to shiver and shatter into a thousand pieces, the pleasure is so strong, the force of it so great. Then she dips her fingers lower, brushes them against your nook, and suddenly everything goes quiet. 

 

You open your mouth, but no noise comes out; it’s like your throat isn’t capable of vocalizing anymore, like any expression of how you’re currently feeling is too much for your alluvial body to express, so you’re left gaping stupidly, mouth open, eyes wide, as she touches you. It’s so good it almost hurts, you’re so oversensitive you almost collapse, your legs going weak at the knees, but Mituna keeps his grasp on you strong and supportive, and stops you from sliding to the floor. 

 

If not for him, you would have toppled, limbs like noodles, but he’s a solid presence behind you, grounding you, keeping you steady, and you’re so grateful for that that you almost start to cry. He murmurs things into your ear, and you can hardly understand him, as inarticulate and unintelligible as he always is, but still, the sound of his voice is comforting even if you don’t know what the words are. Latula’s speaking to you too, slow and soft, telling you to relax, telling you how warm you are, how she can’t wait to have you, so many other things that make your head spin, so you slam your eyes shut and just try to focus on breathing. 

 

Passing out now would be a terrible idea, but your breath comes fast and shallow anyways, and the gentle contact on previously untouched portions of your anatomy are not helping your overexcitement. It’s too much, too fast, but you can’t ask her to stop, slow down, because you don’t want this to end. You don’t want either of them to draw away from you, stop touching you, not even for a second, because if they do you’re not sure you could gather the courage to attempt this again. 

 

So you stay silent, unable to speak, unable to make a single sound, the breath drawn from your lungs as she slowly slips a finger inside you, and oh, _oh_ , the cold against your nook, the coolness of her against your heat, the contrast is so startling and feels so good that your legs do give out, and Mituna is left holding all of your weight. His hands slip from your chest to your thighs and he lifts you up, spreading you open and keeping you there as your pants get shoved down around your ankles and Latula stretches you with a second finger, the sting burning through your mind and your body and clearing your head a bit. 

 

Your position is vulnerable, and your legs try to close automatically, but Mituna shushes you, his lisp soft in your ear, and keeps you spread wide, his arms hooked under your thighs to hold you steady as Latula works.  You’re not used to being so exposed, so defenseless, and it frightens you just as much as their actions arouse you, your heart beating too-fast for a variety of reasons. You’re suddenly aware of how open this area is, how unprotected, and you shiver, your freed hands reaching up to wrap around Mituna’s neck, hiding your face from the two of them and any passersby as it flames red.

 

He kisses one colorful ear, giggling softly, and Latula twists and wriggles her fingers, prompting a choked off, quiet noise of pleasure to spill from your lips. Your body arches, and she slips in a third, spreading them and stretching you further, and it burns and feels so, so good at the same time that you can’t just sit still, you have to do something, so you press your teeth to Mituna’s throat and bite, whimpering around your mouthful as she rocks her hand into you, her other pressing against her thigh, cool against your overheated flesh. 

 

He moans, the sound vibrating against your teeth, and she leans forward to kiss him, her fingers pressing deeper into you. Listening to them, hearing the soft, slick slide of lips, knowing they’re kissing above you and around you even as she rubs her fingers over the walls of your nook, makes you shiver and whine as your teeth sink in, jaw clenching as the pleasure washes over you in waves. 

 

You’re not too worried about breaking skin; your teeth are dull, and his flesh is thick. Of anything, he seems to enjoy the slight pain, grinding up against you and letting out a few harsh noises signifying his own pleasure. You lay back and just… exist, for a while, lost to the ebb and flow of feeling and gentle touches and soft kisses, until suddenly it’s all gone, and there’s something much colder and slicker sliding up against you, and Latula has moved your face away from Mituna’s neck and is speaking to you, slow and kind. 

 

“Are you ready, Kankri?” she murmurs, and fuck, that thing pressing up against you usher bulge, it’s her bulge and she’s actually going to fuck you. 

 

You nod, frantically, and she leans in and touches her lips to yours, kissing you deep and slow as she carefully pushes her way into you, her bulge thicker around than her fingers and so, so much longer. 

 

It burns, god it hurts, but she wraps her arms around your neck and distracts you with kisses, and Mituna licks and nibbles the tip of your ear, cooing to you softly as you adjust. Her coolness is soothing, soon enough, and it numbs the pain in your nook, the slight twitching and flicking of her bulge too much for you to handle. Your hands reach up and back, tangling with Mituna’s hair, and you whine, high and sharp and needy, body trembling as she begins to move. 

 

The gentlest rock of her hips makes you cry out, the smallest thrash makes you cry, period, and you let your head loll back against Mituna’s shoulder, eyes rolled back in their sockets as she speeds up, her hands wrapped around your hips as she twists her bulge inside you. The noises that spill from your lips used to be words, but you’re not sure what they are now; gibberish, unintelligible syllables that meant something at one point, but no longer. 

 

All you can manage to do is beg, and so you beg, pleading with her, with him, with the both of them for anything, everything. Mituna grinds up against you from behind, the hot press of his clothed bulge rubbing over your ass and adding an extra layer of sensation to the mess of feelings you’re already slogging through. 

 

He moans into your ear, bites the tip of it as he ruts against you, a steady stream of praises and curse words dribbling from his own lips as saliva dribbles from yours, a trail of drool marking a path down our cheek as you whimper and whine and mewl, tears painting the rest of your face as you stare up at the sky, eyes glazed over with pleasure. 

 

Everything feels so good you can hardly breathe, and you clutch at Mituna’s hair, panting for air as Latula presses close, her breasts pushed against the skin of your chest, and it’s too much, it’s too much and you can’t hand it as her bulge writhes inside you, hitting points you never even knew existed, and you cry out, loud and long, as you spill all over yourself and them, without anyone ever touching your bulge. 

 

She keeps thrusting, rolling her hips into you slowly, drawing everything out almost painfully long, and you’re hit with another, smaller climax when she fills you up, her cool material coating every inch of your nook. You choke out a gasp, thighs trembling in Mituna’s grasp, and he whines and curses as he grinds against you hard, biting at your ear and throat as he lets out his own strangled cry, Latula’s soft sigh of pleasure nearly covered by the almost pained sound. 

 

You’re loose, limp in his tight grasp, eyes heavy lidded as Latula lifts your head and looks over your face, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as she wipes away the mess. 

 

“How are you feeling, Kankz?” she asks, quiet and kind, perfect in every way, and you can’t stop the stupid, stupid smile that spreads across your face or the way you let your head drop to her collarbone, nuzzling her soft skin and purring loud enough to wake the dead. 

 

Before today you weren’t even sure you were capable of making such a noise, but it seems you are, and so are the both of them because their answering purrs vibrate their chests and knock you even further into an exhausted sense of calm, of safety. She carefully draws out of you, but stays pressed close, her bulge retracting into its sheath as she wraps her arms around both you and Mituna, hugging tightly. 

 

“I’ll take that as a good thing, then,” she giggles, and you nod, letting your eyes drift shut as you’re held in their arms, the contact, the contentment more than you’ve felt in sweeps. 

 

Someone gets a towel from a sylladex, and she softly cleans you up, tucking you back into your pants as Mituna shifts you in his grip until he’s cradling you to his chest like a wriggler, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist, one of his arms under your ass and the other pressed against your back, his palm rubbing over the knobs of your spine. It’s so comfortable, you’re being held so lovingly, touched so gently, by them, and your heart aches so much that you begin to cry again, silently, breaths soft and hitched. 

 

“Kanny?” Mituna asks, voice a bit frantic, and he shifts his weight from side to side, rocking you slightly as he coos and fusses, asking you what’s wrong, if you’re hurting, if they were too rough with you. 

 

You shake your head and press your ear to his chest, hearing the skip jump of his heartbeat, and, shakily, voice weak, you mumble, “I love you.”

 

They both stop in their tracks, Latula with her hand pressed right against the base of your spine, Mituna’s weight still unevenly balanced on one foot, and, soft and raspy, you repeat yourself. 

 

“I love you,” you say, and god, it feels so good, it’s like you’re lifting a thousand pound weight from your shoulders and tossing it to the side after a millennia, “I love you. I love you both, I’ve loved you for so long, I love you so much…"

 

A pause, and then they both begin to move again, Latula’s fingers tracing soothing patters over the muscles of your lower back, Mituna rocking, shifting from side to side, slow and calm. 

 

“We  love you too,” she says, leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of your neck, and Mituna nods, mimicking her, his lips brushing against your forehead as he says, “Loev you, Kanny.”

 

Your fingers, trembling and pleasure weakened as they are, reach up and tangle in the fabric of Mituna’s jumpsuit and you cling, letting your breath slow down, letting your body relax as he holds you and she touches you, content in the knowledge that they care for you as well. 

 

How can this be selfish if they love you too? How can this be wrong, if they feel the same way? The three of you can coexist. You don’t have to be alone anymore. You can be with them, they love you, they said so, they love you…

 

You throw one hand out, and Latula laces her fingers with yours, squeezing gently as they carry you away, where you’re laid down on something soft and sandwiched between the two of them, pressed against his warmth and her coolness, and you let yourself drift off, content in the knowledge that this… this is yours. They are yours. They are yours, and you are theirs, and you can finally be happy. 


End file.
